


Tigerlily

by KamikazeSoundSociety



Series: The Depravity Series [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Breathplay, Come Marking, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mind Games, Multi, Oral Sex, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 22:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10773435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KamikazeSoundSociety/pseuds/KamikazeSoundSociety
Summary: Credence should really know better by now than to fall for their games.





	Tigerlily

**Author's Note:**

> Over at [my tumblr](http://kamikazesoundsociety.tumblr.com/), I asked people to send me the kinkiest prompts they could think of. This is a reply to the following prompt:
>
>> Grindelgravebone. Gellert and Graves take turns fucking Credence--spread open and bound wrists to ankles, ass in the air, blindfolded and desperate not knowing which of them is inside him. When he's nice and fucked open they stretch him open at the same time and he is so, so full, overwhelmed and sobbing, begging them to stop but he loves how hot and thick it feels when they cum all over and inside him. He's dripping when they swipe their cum out with their fingers and make him suck them clean.

Credence really _should_ know better, by now.

Still, when he finds a little packet beside his papa’s chair – wrapped in shining silver paper and a _ribbon_ , ooh, Credence has always loved ribbons – he can’t help but take his time opening it. He enjoys the feeling of the ribbon as it whispers over his knuckles, the crackle of the paper as he teases his fingers through the folds.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says in surprise when he finally opens it. A golden pastry sits nestled inside the wrapping paper, dusted in powdery sugar, swirls of cream piped through the centre. He nibbles it daintily, mindful of the powdered sugar and gold dust. It’s sweet as sin; there’s a dark aftertaste when he swallows that leaves his lips tingling pleasantly. He chases the taste with his tongue, swiping his teeth and his gums, but it’s entirely gone. He takes another bite to try to find it again.

When he finishes the pastry off his fingers are sticky with sugar. He sucks them desperately into his mouth, chasing the taste, but it’s gone. His lips are sticky too and he tries his best to lick them clean but there’s something – _something_ –

The tingling has spread now, arcing down his throat, spreading through his chest, winding around his lungs and ribs. It’s hot and it prickles, criss-crossing the line between pleasure and pain, one moment hot and sweet and the next burning. Credence swallows against it; it rises up into his face and through his head like a wave, shooting down through his limbs. His fingertips are numb.

When it reaches the cradle of his hips it explodes, suddenly, with no warning, and Credence makes a noise like a sobbing little gasp. He reaches for the table to try to haul himself to his feet but misses. When he manages to bring himself up from kneeling onto all fours he finds there’s no strength left in his arms, elbows and shoulders giving way and leaving him panting into the soft skin of his elbows, forehead pillowed into his arms. He feels sick, feverish. His stomach is twisted up and his limbs are burning.

He is achingly, pulsatingly hard. The need courses through him, every hair painfully standing up, nipples tight, every muscle taut and twitching. He feels like he’s been torn, like a part of himself has been ripped right out of his chest; empty, hollow, broken. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, he needs to be whole again. He needs to be filled up, plugged up, needs it to stop. But there is no strength left in him; it takes a massive strength of will just to clench his fingers weakly. He is certain that he’s haemorrhaging on his own magic spilling out of him, sweat, tears.

He becomes aware of the firm click of heels in the room behind him, moving about against the floor. He can feel his heart beat in precise double time to them, the blood whooshing in his ears. Elegant silver wingtips enter the very periphery of his vision. “Pa – papa,” he sobs, delirious.

“No, not Papa,” his daddy says, a trace of humour in his tone, “although he did bet that you’d be unable to resist a prettily wrapped little present before we let you open it.”

Credence sobs again. “M so – so – sorry,” he cries. “Daddy… Daddy, _please –_ “

“Oh, sweetheart,” his daddy says. Credence is aware of being picked up like he hardly weighs anything, in the firm grip of his arms. Daddy has shed his Auror robes at the door, but Credence still finds comfort rubbing his cheek against the rough wool of his waistcoat. He finds himself mouthing it, worrying the serge between his teeth, desperate, needing to touch, to taste, to reassure that his daddy loves him still.

He's set down on silk sheets and then Daddy’s gone. Credence cries out, pain and fear lancing through him but Daddy’s hand is back in a moment, tracing the arc of his spine. “Stay, pet,” Daddy says. “I’m calling your papa.” He leaves again, and now Credence is openly weeping. He should never have touched the little gift wrapped up on the floor, he should have left it were it was, should have listened to his papa when he lay down the rules and told Credence he was _absolutely not to touch anything_ without his say-so. He should have known it was another one of their games. _Sorry, sorry, sorry,_ he mouths into the sheets.

“You owe me two dragots,” Papa says smugly from somewhere behind him, and Credence stiffens as much as he’s able to, trying his hardest to get up and kneel and bare his throat for forgiveness like he’s supposed to. He cannot, and this stings more than the shame of his wretched misbehaviour. Credence sobs again.

The bed dips and he can feel a cool palm trace the wings of his shoulder blades. “What happened, pet?” Papa asks him.

Credence only sobs harder, but Papa knows exactly what he means, dipping into his mind and back out again. The flavour of his mind is foreign inside Credence’s but he accepts it as much as he can, opening, welcoming. His mind belongs to his papa as much as every other part of him does.

He hears murmuring words over his head. The soft rumble soothes him, if only slightly.

“And how do you think you should be punished, darling?” his Daddy asks from the other side of the bed.

 _Anything, anything,_ Credence thinks. He’s aware of that awful emptiness inside him, yawning like a canyon, ready to swallow him up and consume him. He feels like he’s missing half of his soul. Between his legs, his cock twitches, angry and weeping. _Anything you want, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._

Papa laughs brightly. “Not yet you’re not, little one,” he coos, and Credence feels the long tendrils of his magic picking him up and repositioning him, on his knees with his face pushed into the sheets and his arms pulled out and behind him, wrists alongside ankles. Like this, his cock is trapped between his lap and his belly; already, he can feel his toes going numb, knees pinched together. He whines and rocks, but neither of them take pity on him. On one side, his Daddy gently takes his ankle and his wrist together in one hand and winds heavy rope over, under, and around; on his other side, Papa is doing the same.

With his face pressed into the bed like this he can’t see them when they let go within seconds of each other. Like everything they do it’s a silent competition. He hears the sounds of fabric rustling, _clink-clink_ as a belt is undone and cuffs are dropped into the bowl on the sideboard. He can hardly breathe like this, either, his nose half-blocked.

He relaxes completely when someone’s hand skims up the sigh of his thigh and settles on his ass with a light squeeze. The fingers massage and knead there heavily and he leans into the contact as much as he can; he doesn’t flinch when the hand disappears and smacks down, palm heavy, blow radiating up his spine and down his legs.

Before the prickle fades away, another strike lands, twin imprint on the other cheek. Credence is still sensitive and pink from last night but he leans into the blow anyway. A third lands directly between the two, the force of it juddering up his pelvis and his spine. They’re slow, methodical – at least for now – and stoke the curling little embers into a fire, the delicate skin there burning and stinging. At the fifth blow, he curls his toes and his fists; at the eleventh, the blow physically knocks a breath from his chest, a breathless whine he bites off before it can fully form.

It’s not the pain that pulls the noise from him; it’s the burning, the horrible unceasing heat building beneath his skin that makes him want to rock away and instinctively bring his hands up to cover himself. Not that he can move, pressed into this helpless position with hands and feet tied together. He can’t even raise himself up onto his knees.

At the twenty-fourth – he’s gotten _very_ good at keeping track of his spanks, because Papa might ask him at any moment – tears well up in his eyes again and it only takes two more before he’s sobbing openly, a sticky disgusting mess beneath his face.

The blows stop as suddenly as they began. This time, Credence can’t help the flinch when two palms press over the centre of each cheek, gentle, rubbing. _Daddy_ , he thinks, because his Daddy can be sweet and soothing when Papa is being strict. Then he’s pulled open and –

Credence whines high, rocking back as best as he can into the questing tongue that’s lapping at him but it moves away and he hears his Daddy say, “You’ll take what you’re given, sweetheart, and no more.”

“So – sorry,” Credence gasps, then muffles another squeak into the sheets when he’s rewarded with a long flat drag of tongue, taint to tailbone, and again, a cat lapping at cream. Credence bites into his lips, eyes squeezed shut, his world narrowed to that lovely wet filthy press of tongue that is _not enough_.

“Mmm, good boy,” Daddy says from further away and Credence jumps a little, because this means that the mouth that’s currently toying with him must be Papa. Credence is much more likely to have his face between his Papa’s thighs than the other way around; he feels briefly discomforted, until Papa begins to draw lazy circles around his entrance with his tongue that make all thoughts fly completely out of his head. His tongue spirals in, slowly, until it’s taunting him, fluttering over his rim with every pass and Credence is whining. Spit drips down lands on his ankles wetly. Distantly, Credence is aware that his feet and calves are prickling unpleasantly, strained in the position.

The bed in front of him dips down and Credence opens his eyes to see Daddy unzipping his trousers and pulling down his underwear, heavy cock springing free. He opens his mouth eagerly, but Daddy stays just out of reach as he trails his fingers along his length, stroking the flushed dark head. A dewy drop of pre-cum swells at the tip and Credence whimpers; he wants to lick it up, have Daddy in his mouth, hard and hot and perfect.

The whimper turns into a wail when Papa unexpectedly closes his mouth over his rim and sucks hard, an unexpected mimic of a love bite that has Credence bucking his hips; he feels the faintest skitter of teeth and then, at last, _at last_ , Papa trails two fingers over him. There’s a pleasant tingle of the lubricating spell and then he’s breached, _oh_ , opened up gloriously. He squeezes down onto his fingers in reflexive surprise and then he huffs out a breath, relaxing, welcoming him in.

In front of him, Daddy wraps his hand around his cock and strokes himself, in that slow and languid way he does when he’s only just teasing. Credence leans forward as far as he can and Daddy leans back, keeping the distance between his lovely cock and poor Credence’s mouth constant.

“Please,” Credence pleads, trying to crane his neck far back enough to look up, but in this bound position the furthest up he can see is the wine-dark cravat tucked into his waistcoat. “Please, Daddy, please, can I – would you let me – “

“He’s entirely too coherent,” Daddy says over his head to Papa, ignoring him, and Credence squeals when Papa laughs against his skin and he goes from teasing to terrible in the barest instant, three fingers spearing into him and scissoring open roughly. To go from nothing to three fingers is a shock and Credence is rocked forward by the force, lips knocking against the head of Daddy’s cock. He’s not one to waste an opportunity; he darts his tongue out and swipes at the little pebbled patch just beneath the head, trying to pull him back into his mouth.

Daddy groans and Credence is rewarded by the slick press of his cock against his lips. He opens his mouth eagerly, the lovely scent of sex and sweat hanging heavy in the air; only to stutter when, inside him, Papa’s fingers skitter in an angle that makes hot sensation spark down his limbs. Credence gasps and Papa does it again – he’s teasing, taunting, he knows _exactly_ where that spot is inside Credence and he’s deliberately avoiding it.

Credence is whining around the cock in his mouth, drool running down his chin, squirming as best as he can try to push back. He imagines Papa has his other hand wrapped around himself, matching that slow, maddening speed with which his fingers are steadily working in.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Papa says, and he sounds ever so slightly out of breath. With his other hand he slaps Credence’s ass _hard_ , and Credence yelps around Daddy’s cock, the sting sharp and unfading over his abused skin. An unseen signal passes between the two men and with no warning, Daddy shoves his cock all the way into Credence’s mouth and halfway down his throat, and Papa’s fingers find that wonderful sport inside him unerringly, jabbing up and in. Credence sputters and chokes, sparks skittering up his spine, delicious and sweet. His eyes roll back into his head.

He’s so focused on not choking on Daddy’s thick cock that it takes him a second to register that Papa’s fingers have pulled out of him. He says to Daddy, “I want to hear him for this,” and Daddy obligingly yanks away from his mouth. Credence has a bare moment to pant in a ragged gasp before Papa’s driving into him in one impossibly deep stroke.

Credence’s next breath is a sobbing wail. Papa gives him no time to adjust; he’s fucking up and hard, _in in in_ and impossibly deep. He’s only just brushing past Credence’s spot, tortuous, not letting him feel anything other than the sensation of being speared on his cock, like he might split in two if his Papa doesn’t hold him together, his fingers bruising at his bony hips.

Daddy takes hold of his face, thumb brushing his cheekbone. Back and forth, gentle, gentle. The sweet contrast makes the tears gathering at the corners of Credence’s eyes spill over. Daddy kisses the top of his head and whispers, “That’s it, sweetheart. You’re so good, such a good boy for your Papa. God, baby, you’re fucking gorgeous like this.”

“Look at you, little whore,” Papa coos, nails biting into bone. He slaps Credence’s ass again, harder than all the times before, but this time it’s the barest flutter against Credence’s awareness compared to the splitting, stinging, thrilling sensation of his cock.

Then he grinds in just _so_ , and Credence’s vision briefly whites out and he wails, breath knocked out by the brutal force of Papa’s thrusts.

“Please – _please_ – “ He doesn’t know what he’s begging for. He loves it, hates it, this awful wonderful push-pull pleasure pain. Daddy seems to know what he means, though, because suddenly his cock is back in front of his lips and Credence opens his mouth for his Daddy, letting him in, letting him fuck his face and use him, spit and precum sliding down his chin. Beneath his face, the sheet is sodden.

Daddy uses his face and throat with less force than Papa is using his ass, but with no less intensity for it. Every thrust stretches Credence’s lips, flattens his tongue, opens up his throat. He gasps in breaths every time Daddy pulls back; eventually, his nose and lips are ground up into the fly of Daddy’s trousers and he can feel the spasming shudder of Daddy’s hips, muscles fluttering as he holds it in, watches Credence gulp and choke on his cock.

Credence is burning – he feels perfectly, wonderfully used, eyes rolled back into his head, nothing in the world as important as the use of his body for Daddy and Papa’s pleasure. He’s split into two, but all his dark and hollow places are filled up, sealed, their clever fingers sewing his seams shut.

He comes with a muffled scream, Daddy yanking out of his mouth halfway through to pump his cock once, twice – then he comes too, all over Credence’s face, groaning. Hot streaks of come paint his hair, his forehead, dripping down into his eyes and down his nose. Credence lingers on the precipice of his orgasm, zeroed in to that lovely, wonderful spot inside him that Papa is torturing with each drag of his cock.

Papa’s thrusts are erratic – his hips snap into Credence’s with little shudders as he grinds in. He’s curled over him and he fucks in, hard, fingers splayed over Credence’s waist, maneuvering his boneless body. Heat floods Credence’s insides and he gasps, Papa growling down by his ear, fingers mean and merciless on his skin. His cock is pulsing inside his body, swelling at his entrance and echoing his pulse. He’s murmuring something, sweet little endearments in Hungarian.

Credence slumps into the bed, eyes closing. He feels wonderfully fucked out, wonderful and warm. Someone’s hand curls into his hair and he smiles into the sheet, quite ready to be untied and fussed over. He’d quite like a bath, he thinks.

Instead, his head is yanked up, eyes snapping open with a surprised little cry.

“Oh dear, pet,” Papa says into his ear, low, dark. He rubs his other hand down Credence’s side, tracing the bumps of his ribs. “Did you think we were done?”

“ _Uh – uh,_ ” Credence whimpers. Beneath him, his cock twitches with interest, but it’s too early for him to get hard again.

Papa lets go of his hair and yanks out from inside him with a wet sucking noise. Credence flushes pink when he feels his poor hole flutter, but even so he feels come trickle out of him, sliding down his body.

In front of him, Daddy shifts away and stands from the bed. Credence hears footsteps and the low murmur of the two of them speaking to one another. There’s a hand on his lower back, and then fingers swipe down over his gaped entrance, circling the rim, dipping in. Credence bites down on a discomforted _unh_ , overstretched and oversensitive.

“Dripping come, the little slut,” his Daddy tells his Papa, who laughs delightedly. Footsteps, and suddenly Daddy’s hand is in front of his face. As he said, his fingers are covered in Papa’s come, thick and smeared down to the knuckle.

“Lick,” he says, and Credence does, cleaning him as best as he can with his mouth and tongue. He sucks Daddy’s fingers in, swirling his tongue around, chasing away every last drop of Papa’s come. Daddy pats his face gently and pulls away, and then he’s gone from Credence’s vision. Behind him, he and Papa say something to one another, but the words are too low for Credence to hear.

There’s the sound of a wand swishing through the air and bitten off laughter, and then suddenly Papa is dropping down to the bed in front of him, cock hard and heavy again, hand yanking on his curls and guiding his face up.

“Wh – wh – “ Credence gasps, and then moans loudly when he feels the head of Daddy’s cock press up into his entrance and slide home. Papa takes advantage to push into his mouth, one hand guiding him roughly in his hair and the other cupped around the nape of his neck.

“We’re not going to stop, pet,” Daddy says from above him. He fucks in easily, eased by the lubrication spell and Papa’s come. Unlike Papa, he’s not one to be unnecessarily mean: he hits the spot inside Credence with every slide of his cock. Credence squirms, whimpering, oversensitive, overwhelmed. Papa groans and uses this movement to thrust in harder.

“Did you think it was going to be that easy?” Papa asks him. He wraps one hand around Credence’s throat and moans, head tipped back, just guiding Credence’s head roughly, another hole for him to fuck.

“Going to – _ungh_ – keeping fucking you, baby boy,” Daddy promises. “Going to see how much you can come for us. See if this pretty little asshole – “ he traces Credence’s rim, and Credence bucks and chokes around Papa’s length, “ – can fit both our cocks in there together, both at the same time, what do you think?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi at [my tumblr](http://kamikazesoundsociety.tumblr.com/), and send me more kinky prompts! 


End file.
